Nature is conspiring to spoil all our fun!

Coital Cephalgia is specific type of affliction. It is typified by the expansion and potential rupture of the blood vessels surrounding the brain…

At the point of orgasm.

Arses.

My poor brat has suffered from two of these attacks the last couple of times we’ve had sex. Specifically, it’s happened when she’s masturbated, so while she may be flogged until she’s red and stripy from thighs to shoulders, as happened last week, or whether she spends half an hour over my knee making the acquaintance of our big square hairbrush, as happened last night, followed both times by more than excellent sex, the moment the poor thing touches her clitoris, her head threatens to explode.

The first time it happened was just three minutes before the kids needed to be picked up from school. I can tell you, every horrific scenario went through my head in the half hour it took me to get back. I fully expected to find her slumped on the sofa, haemorrhaging from every orifice, or lay full length on the floor where she’d tried in vain to reach the door before passing away in some horrible rupture.

Needless to say, she was fine. The next day she took herself to the Doc’s, from which she phoned me to inform me she was having to go to Hospital for a CT Scan. Later, she phoned me form the Hospital to inform me that she’d been admitted and had to spedn the night. This was, again, a few minutes before the school run, so in five minutes, I’d shoved overnight clothes and accessories into a bag, retrieved the allen key we’d need to take her collar off and arranged the cash to take me and our two kids to the Hospital.

Luckily, her CT scan came back absolutely normal, so she was spared the tests they were going to run overnight and she was discharged just three hours after being admitted.

A worrying coupe of days, I can tell you.

We’ve taken it easy since then, but everything seemed to be normal-ish. Until last night when we tried to have sex again (entirely unrelated to the fact that the spanking and hairbrushing she’d just got had made me somewhat horny). Again, the freight train ran through her head as her clitoral orgasm hit.

According to the Doctor, there’s a tablet one can take before sex to help ensure it doesn’t happen again. We’re going to need a lifetime supply.

I guess we’re just lucky it doesn’t happen while I’m spanking her. Try explaining that to an ambulance crew!

This weekend we’ve been discussing the nature and goal of brats’ submission to me.

We seem to do that a lot, don’t we? Well, to me, communication, theflow of ideas and taking the time to discuss difficult subjects is hugely important - even more so in the strange situation we find ourselves.

What prompted our latest round of discussions was the discovery that the collar was on its way. Time, I thought, for a good check of how brat’s brain is coping with being a slave and how she’s viewing the prospect of being “officially” enslaved.

We came to the conclusion that this was all a good thing, that she can’t wait to wear my sexy collar around her neck and that she would strive to be much more pro-active. A slave that reacts well to her Masters’ commands is all very well, but it’s a step up from that to reading Masters’ body language, learning those subtle clues, knowing His habits, antiscipating His needs and proactivly seeking to serve Him without being asked.

She took this discussion onboard and how!

OK, so after almost ten years together, you’d expect her to know m rather well and to be able to adjust to this new dynamic with ease. It’s absolutely true. She’s doing incredibly well and spent the weekend serving drinks, fetching things I wanted, antiscipating when the kids were getting on my nerves, etc. It’s a good sign and a step on from the servitude she’s been offering up to now.

Now, I don’t know if this is something to do with her excitement at ebing ccollared, a result of her feeling extra submissive, but she’s gone spanking crazy this weekend. Several times each day she’s bounced around the living room, locked the door, dropped her panties and put herself over my lap for a good asswarming. Also, each night she’s automatically lying on her front in bed, in position for her daily bedtime spanking. Such a good girl!

I’m loving it!

But it gets better. She’s been offering more than her ass, folks.

Avid readers may recall that one of our most basic rules is that brat must consent to the penetration of my choice on demand, and that she’s not allowed to cum without permission. Mix these up and add a dash of her new proactive attitude and what you have is your slave proffering her freshly spanked ass in your direction, alluringly draped over the high arm of the sofa with a comment to the effect of “would Master like to use his slave?”

I’m not sure entirely how selfless this act actually is, but feeling every inch the masterful monster, I took full advantage of her submission, spanking her soundly, penetrating her deeply and pumping her hard while she concentrated on holding off her orgasm and making her pussy and body just as pleasing as possible to me. The first time she offered herself in this fashion I made her wait at least ten minutes before releasing her with what I suspect is her favourite command:

“Cum!”

I adore the feeling of her pussy muscles clamping down around my cock as her orgasm takes her! It’s so primal! And the orgasm she has is spectacular. If only we didn’t have to keep quiet. Last time I fucked her like that in private, the screams were nothing less than awe inspiring!

After another ten minutes of hard fucking, my poor knees neded a bit of a rest, so I had her come and cuddle me while I recovered. She marvelled about how good it was to give herself to me like that and how - in her head, at least - she hadn’t been in the mood until I’d told her to cum. I take issue with that. Her pussy was definitely ready, judging by the amount of lubricant I’d encountered! It seems her mind and body still aren’t in synch. All the better. Some people might see me as some kind of chauvanistic git for making my girl offer herself to be use for sex when she doesn’t want it, but then most people would see me as an abusive bastard for taking a cane to her.

Oh how wrong you are, you small minded clots.

What you don’t know is the burning desire that mounts in her body (if not her mind - for a few hours, anyway) after a good session. You don’t get to experience the wonderment of a girl who takes emotional pleasure from being used purely for her man’s enjoyment.

On one occasion yesterday I allowed her to cum freely during a fuck. She duly clamped hard down on my cock, gasping and panting as one looong orgasm stretched from seconds to minutes - and more minutes - as I took every ounce of pleasure inside her.

Then, because I like her to experience it with a clear, focussed mind, I ordered her to stop cumming as I felt my own climax build. She did well, not quite managing to hold off one last cum as I delivered my hot gift deep inside her with much grunting, gasping and “Oh god, yeah”’s.

Words cannot describe the exquisite feeling that comes with this Masters’ orgasm, knowing that his slave is totally focussed on what He’s doing to her.

She hadn’t finished pleasing me then, though. To compensate for making her take my cum without her own orgasm, I allowed her to lie at my feet and masturbate using my cum to lubricate her clit.

It took her about thirty seconds to bring herself to three of the hugest, wettest, squirmiest, thrashingest, longest lasting orgasms she’s ever had.

It took a disgusting amount of tissue to clean herself off afterwards! We spent the rest of the afternoon deeply content and thoroughly fucked.

later that evening, near to bedtime, with the sprogs finally tucked up in bed, I decided it might be time for another round. This was when we discovered that even with liberal application of lube, I’d fucked her so entirely sore that any more action would be more torture than pleasure and as I only get off on hearing “Ouch” during sex when I’ve attached some kind of torture implement to her and not in response to the thrustings of my cock, I decided to let her recover. Aren’t I nice?

But not all things in the garden are rosy. For ne reason or another - not because of the recurring bouts of sex - brat decided she would hardly drink anything yesterday, realising with devastation at midnight that she’d notched up four demerits.

Oops!

I gave her three options for working them off - four full power lashes with the cane, an hour in bondage or thirty minutes’ cornertime. She ummed and ahhed for ages so I finally made the decision for her. So tonight she will be cuffed, chained and padlocked to the bed for sixty minutes. Not so bad, you think. The thing is, when nothing else is happening, you have nothing to do but focus on the inescapability of your situation, of the fact that your movements have been restricted because you’ve been naughty.

Apparenly, though, that wasn’t enough for her. Shortly before retiring to bed, the situation came aorund that I was teasing her with kisses - you know the thing, brushing her lips with yours, breathin on her and getting ohhh so close but not touching, that kind of thing. Well, she decided to steal a few, which she knows will get her a minor punishment for being bratty, but then her natural brat took hold and a few really silly phrases started popping out of her mouth, like “you won’t” and “Ha! I win!”.

Really. On the list of things not to say to your Master, they have to be up there!

So along with her bondage punishment tonight, she will either find herself being covered in hot wax, or subjected to an hour of orgasm denial - something she counts as the worst punishent I could give her and the only one she hasn’t experienced so far.

I swear she does it on purpose. Tonight should be very interesting, especially as it’s not only the collar that’s due to be delivered today, but a very secure, lockable ballgag.

Cue wickedly evil belly laugh

Apologies for the slight delay getting around to Wednesdays’ events. Sometimes life just gets in the damn way, y’know?

Before I start, here’s a big HI to everyone who’s come here via Tiggr’s kind words this morning! We’re both regular readers of her blog and Dante’s. What a pair! The “Regular reads” blogroll on my sidebar is quite literally what it says - my Bloglines feed. If you’re not on there, I apologise. Leave me a note in the comments and I’ll add you to my daily reading with pleasure.

Anyway…On with the business at hand:

Wednesday was a better day, it has to be said. My brat certainly didn’t wake up in anywhere near as much of a bad mood and the school run went well.

I love bondage - it’s played a significant role in our love-life pre-slavery and has been a totally integral part of our new lifestyle. Knowing this, it’s probably a little unbelievable that I’ve never had brat in chains for more than a few minutes before now - long enough for us to spend our sexual energy, unsurprisingly. Well, that day I decided to fulfil a desire I’d had for some time, put her in wrist and ankle cuffs and locked her black collar on her. This, besides my favourite long black socks and elbow length gloves was to be her attire for the day. After she’d completed her college homework, I arranged some sheets and cushions on the floor by where I was sitting and attached her collar and cuffs with a couple of lengths of chain, locking them just close enough to inhibit walking and stop her reaching her mouth. I then left her sitting on her “bed” with the bitgag in her mouth while I put lunch in the oven and settled myself.

For a while I sat with her at my feet in chains, reading websites and discussing various things - her continuing worry about her parents and how the restraints made her feel, then we came across a rather hot story which I read out to her.

When I turned away from the screen and caught her eye, the look of pure desire she fixed me with made my heart stop in its tracks. We’d been talking just a few moments before about various things we’d like to do and I’d broached the subject of a no-safeword bound spanking, intended to make her cry and to push her beyond her limits. Then I’d found a story about just such a scenario.

“Let’s do it. Right now”
“make me cum first, please?”
“No fuckin’ problem”

I took brat by her lead and led her, still in chains, up to our bedroom. Once I’d swapped my leather cuffs for handcuffs and secured her to the bed, I played with her clit mercilessly, bringing her to such a huge climax that I swear her thrashings could have pulled the rungs right out of our pine headboard.

Then I flipped her over, inserted our largest dildo into her eager pussy and pumped it until she was on the verge of another orgasm. And then the spanking began. I swiftly set up a rhythmic pace, spanking each cheek in turn, reasonably lightly, intending that the repetetive stinging pressure would take her into the pleasure zone - which it did, with a couple of rests while I pumped the dildo into her until she came on it. After a couple of rests, and with her starting to come out with the odd “Ouch”, I increased the tempo, spanking hard and fast on each cheek repetetively - which I know brat finds incredibly uncomfortable.

Her breath started coming in ragged gasps and the “ouches” became more regular. Twice she used our “halfway house” safeword to give herself a break, during which I again pumped the dildo in and out of her gushing pussy, bringing her to a state of almost constant orgasm for the whole of her rest periods.

After maybe ten minutes of this rhythm, I realised to my disappointment that it would probably be beyond my strength to cause enough pain to make her cry with mere spanking, so I decided to switch to the cane.

My brat moaned with resignation when I told her, but as she was once again being fucked, it may have been something else.

I started lightly with the cane - not entirely sure why, I think it may have been some instinct that told me to probe her limits carefully, to not take her directly to whatever place in the serious spanko’s mind where the tears flow like water.

However, it seems that her well punished - an in fact already bruised - bottom wasn’t going to take much more and a few medium strength lashes had her weeping and begging for another rest. I reluctantly went back to hand spanking, but then had a revelation - a moment, it must be said, of clarity.

The reaction I’d seen in my brat when I caned her was exactly the reaction I wanted to see.

I stopped my ministrations with the dildo and informed her I would be going back to the cane and that we were so close to the climax of what we were trying to achieve…

I made her cum a couple more times, failing to leave the dildo inside her as by now she was so completely soaked that it wouldn’t stay put, then I starte in with the cane once more.

Within a couple of strokes I had her telling me it was really bad, then the tears started - and kept on coming.

Fighting with my desire not to hurt her too much, I kept on landing stroke after stroke, listening to her sobs, marvelling as they actually changed from light but strong weeping to deep gasping sobs as the blows kept landing. Eventually I let her rest, kissing her and reassuring her like I had for the last few rest stops. Then I tentatively began pumping the dildo again, wondering what her reaction would be.

The reaction was that she came again immediately, still in tears. I was blown away, and vastly encouraged. By this point, the leaked lubricant from her deeply filled pussy was coating te insides of her thigns maybe halfway to her knees.

Time constraints and my instincts dictated that brat only recieved one more session with the cane, this time crying much more deeply and profoundly than the previous time, totally abandoned to the pain and other sensations she was doubtless feeling.

When I stopped, I gave her one last good fucking, then took her in my arms. Incredibly, she was far more interested in me removing the chafing handcuffs than anything else, but then, after some investigation of her very very sore arse and some seriously profound cuddling, we had to face daily realities again.

Three o’clock was rapidly approaching and the children would soon need collecting. Brat, however, was in no state to go anywhere. She was, in fact, finding it rather hard to stand and when she did manage to stand, reported that she felt not a little spacey. Was it Subspace? We don’t know. I know it’s the first time she’s been in a state like that. Maybe I need to get her there a few more times before we can make a decent judgement.

After she’d come down from her high enough to walk downstairs, I left her, desperately reluctantly, to clear up, compose herself and test out her visciously punished ass on the relatively soft sofa. Lunch was rescued and bolted just before I ran out to collect the kids.

A few decicions were reached that evening. I “banned her” from phoning her family until Saturday - the speechmarks are because this is the story I told her mother. The reality is that brat just wanted some damn time off from the daily identical half-hour calls. They’re only half an hour becaue that’s what I limit her to on pain of punishment, otherwise it would be three solid hours of the same gossip as the night before…and the night before that…and the night before that.

Is it any wonder I banned her? Is it any wonder she wanted to be banned?

Also, we agreed that her poor bum would take some time off, and any demerits would be worked off by time in strict bondage, or corner time with nipple clamps attached.

Her bum took about three days to recover, during which time it sported some of the sexiest bruising I’ve ever seen and definitely the most bruising I’ve ever inflicted. We didn’t take any photos, I’m afraid, spankfans, but there’s plenty else we’ve discovered in the ensuing half-week which may be just as photogenic, such as her tolerance for having pegs attached to her pussy while being fucked over the sofa, or her intolerance of even half an hour of inescapable rope bondage.

I bet you want to know all about that, don’t you, you pervs? Tsk. Well, you’ll just have to wait…

The antics of my brat’s family is something of a soap opera, with goings on which would curl anyone’s hair.

They’ve always claimed to be a close family - which unfortunately equates to sibling squabbles, fallings out and sometimes full-on guerrilla warfare. For this and other much darker reasons, brat has suffered with depression for a long time. I’m honoured to say that my love for her over the last almost ten years (and my diligence in removing her from the direct influence of the damaging elemens of her family) has slowly but steadily helped to dispel much of her problems - the agreement to follow a DD M/s relationship being one of the most effective “treatments”.

Now and again, however, something will prey heavy on her mind and she’ll be in danger of reverting to the sullen, depressive soul that spent 14 hours in bed every day and refused to accept anything good in her life.

This week has been a bad week in that regard.

I should expalin first that neither of us work. I have been a stay-at-home dad to our two little girls for the last six years (with various stints working in bars over the years) due mostly to brats’ depression (long-term and post-natal), and brat is currently studying to become a qualified Reflexologist (she’s already qualified in a number of holistic therapies and eventually wants to set up her own business). Therefore, we have been blessed with four solid days together this week.

Tuesday morning, brat asked to return to bed for a couple of hours while I did the school run and visited the doctors with my bad knee. I agreed, but told her that I’d want her awake and attentive when I returned.

I slid ino bed beside her and gently woke her up - which she did grudgingly. While I tried my best to make the rest of the day enjoyable - a nice romantic cuddle followed by lunch out - brat did nothing more than complain, criticise and basically whinge her head off, no matter how nice and understanding I tried to be.

Finally, after I’d spent two solid hours trying to talk her out of her funk and get her to the point of leaving the house to go to lunch, she delivered the final straw, getting angry over some imagined confusion about how much time we had, where we were going and what she wanted for lunch when we got there.

There comes a time when even the most patient Master will reach the end of His tolerance and brat was simply showing no signs of slowing down on the mad spiralling journey of anger and confusion she was on, so it was in desperation and sadness that I decided I would have to deliver her first proper Bad Girl spanking.

I ordered her over the arm of the sofa and, holding her still with one hand, built up a steady, stinging rhythm with the other. It was a sign of her state of mind that from the very first - not amazingly hard - spank she was complaining. Throughout the spanking I lectured her on what I thought was wrong with her behaviour, how I wanted her to straighten out, how her contradictions and attitude were threatening to spoil what I’d planned would be a very nice, sweet day together.

Her protests eventually turned from pleading to anger as the pressure of the spanking increased and when I eventually gave my hand a rest, she broke position and ran our bedroom where she lay and cried. I gave her a few minutes, then followed her upstairs. She was still being defiant, but I got the impression that the spanking had done its’ job as she was not so much bothered about the mechaincs of the day as aggrieved at me for the punishment. I gave her an ultimatum - I was going to go back downstairs and continue getting ready to go out. If she still wished to be my slave and accept my discipline, she would follow me down, apologise for her behaviour and we’d try to rescue what we could of the day. Otherwise, the M/s relationship would be through.

She took all of thirty seconds to make up her mind. I held her in my arms while she wept and apologised, then we finally went out and had a reasonably nice afternoon shopping together.

It wasn’t much of a punishment to be honest and she frankly deserved much more, but it really did seem to do the job - at least temporarily. As you’ll find out in my next post, the depression didn’t stay away for long and Wednesday saw a crisis point and a far more extreme solution…

One of the things that we agreed was to be a punishable offense was brat’s intake of fluids.

She’s notoriously bad at drinking and has been known to go days without a significant drink - we’re talking maybe half a pint a day for weeks. Not good. So we agreed on a minimum limit of five pints of some kind of liquid each day. She’s to be responsible for her own intake, but for each pint not drunk by midnight, she recieves a stroke of the cane.

Normally, she’s diligent enough - even if she’s chugging two pints at 11pm, she manages to meet her target one way or another. Yesterday - the day of sex and spanking, that is, she managed to drink maybe a few sips. And that’s it.

Oh. Dear.

Five strokes of the cane, delivered at full or near-full force on a cold ass.

I decided to spare her a miserable night lying on a well whipped ass, so we agreed that punishemnt would be taken after the school run this morning. She pleaded for leniency, the silly thing, but we finally compromised by introducing hr to the concept of cornertime.

Each stroke had the poor thing dancing around the room. She took two, then was put in the corner to think about how stupid it was that she was being caned just for not drinking - and for some recovery time, took another one and begged to go back in her corner, then took the final two in swift succession, which I told her to stay in position for. It was a closerun thing - she said afterwards that what she really wanted to do was put her hands behind, dance around and shout at me, but to her credit she managed to stay perfectly in position for the last stroke.

When we were done, I took her in my arms and hed her close until she’d stopped quivering and snivelling, kissing her and telling her how good she was, how it was all done now and how I didn’t want to deliver that kind of punishment again. She’d let me down and herself down and I seriously don’t think she’s going to scrimp on her fluid intake again.

Later on we were in bed talking about subspace and my tentative plans to take her there. There’s been a few times I’ve spanked her to the point where she wanted to fight back, btu I’ve only managed to cane her to tears twice. Once on purpose to exorcise some particularly nasty demons from her past and once by accident during a badly timed scene.

making your sub/slave cry through a spanking or caning is a powerful and strange experience. For me, there’s that barrier that I think most people have that tears equals “Stop”, but during my readings on the subjects of DD and subspace, it seems that the key to bringing about that particular mental state is to watch her reactions, listen to the noises she makes and spank through the tears. It’s a journey I want to be strong enough and confident enough to take my brat on. After our discussion, she’s willing to let me try and she certainly trusts me enough to submit to a spanking which will necessarily be far beyond anything she’s taken so far.

It’s going to be a scary trip, but I hear it’s one worth taking - and then some.

Apparently, she also wants to learn to ejaculate. Now that will definitely be a less painful experience…

I suffer from gout, which, when it hits, cripples me.

This week has seen a pretty violent attack, with my right knee in almost permanent excruciating agony.

Don’t let anyone tell you a Dom is a Dom because he can’t take the pain he dishes out, OK? I’d put gout up there with any punishment! Oh yeah, and there ain’t no safeword, either.

Well, ranting aside, by Sunday I’d ecovered enough to stand without wincing, so it was with - well, not exactly wild abandon, but cautious care that I sent the kids upstairs to watch Pokemon (Oh wonderful God of Children that can use DVD’s unassisted!), ordered brat over the arm of the sofa and took up my position by her side, one hand firmly in the small of her back, one hand delivering the stingy, sexy spanks that make her virtually squirt with desire.

Flushed with my success at risin from my deathbed, I succumbed to the swelling in my shorts, freed the beast and slid into my very hot little slave.

It was all of five seconds before she was asking permission to cum. Well, what could I do but indulge her? There was a real fear that she’d either flood the lounge or burn my poor cock off if I denied her any longer, so I allowed her her release - and what a release! Five minutes later she was still quivering from the self-same orgasm, resting full length on the sofa arm (we have one of those high-sided suites - the perfect height for spanking and - as it turns out - fucking), feet off the ground, teeth grinding from the effort of keeping quiet, pussy deeply pumped by her rapidly tiring and ecstatically not hurting Master.

Normally I can last for a while, but the situation was just far too much for my poor unwell brain and came deep inside her in just a few minutes. After cleaning up and unlocking the lounge door (Thank the God of locking doors, while you’re at it), she snuggled into the crook of my arm with
joy - and obviously up for more.

Well, I wasn’t done spanking her, even if I’m past the point - at 33 years of age - of being able to repeat a sexual performance without a written invitation and two days’ advance warning, so she found herself blissfully thrown over that armrest and thoroughly spanked quite a few times during the rest of the day.

As it happens, brat actually did manage to bring me to another orgasm, but I blame her red hot little pussy and ass for that. How can she expect me not to cum like mad when she makes such a terrific target and gets so incredibly horny at the drop of a hat…erm, hand?

All in all, a spectacular day - and another step on the journey to truly unleash my brats’ deep dark inner slut.

OK, not so deep, not so particularly dark, but she hates admitting that her pussy tells truths about her desires that she can’t accept in her head.

As a good Master, I’m obliged to help in any way I can, aren’t I?

(Insert evil chuckle here)

Yesterday was grocery day chez Fitz, which means we usually pop along to the local city cenre and keep a shrewd eye out for pervertable implements.

We found a very yummy replacement for the cheapo paddle I’d picked up the other day, which got tried out across brat’s hand and which was duly reported as being “Very nice”, a stupid leopardprint bat which absolutely refused to administer any pain whatsoever and - joy of spanko joys - wooden spoons for a mere 25p (50c for our over the pond friends).

At this point, brat got somewhat…excited, announcing that her pussy was, not to put too fine a point on it, drenched.

It didn’t help when I surreptitiously bent her over in the next aisle and gave her a couple of test whacks with that spoon.

Her mood after that could only be described as euphoric - dancing through the shop singing out “I’m gonna get spanked!” and constantly making horny little yummy noises.

Well, obviously, we made our way home as quickly as possible and pretty much as soon as we’d dried off from the rain and put the most perishable items away, out came mister spoon and over went the brat.

What followed was a very exciting, very juicy, very stingy spanking that left the poor thing with a sensetive bum for the rest of the evening. I say spanking, but really it was about six separate spankings because she’s begun craving that stingy glow that comes from a well abused bottom, so she kept coming back for more, draping herself over the arm of the sofa again and again, wiggling herself at me and practically purring as I held her down and laid in with gusto!

The only problem I’ve encountered with this new-found joy of being spanked is that she’s begun shrugging off her punishment canings. She actually managed to notch up nine demerits recently, something which, just a few days ago would have been devastating and left her on the virge of tears. Instead, she literally shrugged them off. Oh yes, her ass stung like fuck afterwards, but not enough to change her attitude, so after some thought and a little discussion on the subject I decided she was to be punished again, but this time recieving much harder strokes.

Well, that did the job. I’ve found a new way of making her punishments undesirable, which is just the way I want them. To my delight, the punishment park from two days ago is still there today, sitting proudly underneath the one she got yesterday.

I’d begun to think I was being a little lenient on her. Well, now I’m happy. And brat is a happy, bouncy, chastened, cane-fearing slave all over again. All is good in the world!

Thursay was the first day in about two months that we’ve had any time totally to ourselves, so as soon as the kids were safely packed off to school, we dropped, barely conscious onto the sofa and resolved to spend the day quietly relaxing.

Things didn’t happen like that, fortunately.

About five minutes into the day, we retired to bed and for a while did nothing but revel in eachothers’ closeness. It’s not often we get to snuggle up together as comfortably and as relaxed as that, so we took advantage of the time we had.

As they do in those situations, one thing led to another and soon we were kissing, fondling, writhing together, slowly getting hotter. She sighed with contented pleasure when I finally bushed her pussy lips, bucking her hips towards my fingers in a completely wanton sign of what she wanted.

Nudging her legs gently apart, I dipped a finger in her wetness and carefully began circling her clitoris, just as she loves it. Soon, she was laid flat on her back, my finger playing with the spo I know will eventually get her off. Her breathing became more urgent and the delicious writhing under my hand became more desperate as her excitement increased.

“Please sir, let me carry on…”

She replaced my fingers with her own and settled into a stroking rhythm which threatened to take her over the edge in seconds. With deep lust in her eyes, she looked up at me, devouring the sight of my enraptured gaze as she played with her own throbbing clit. Suddenly, with a gasp, she let go of her clit and clasped her hands to her chest.

“Keep playing”
“Can I cum, sir? Please?”
“Just play - and don’t stop.”

My order was rewarded with a deep groan as her finger resumed its work. brat may only cum with my permission, but this time I had no intention of giving it to her. However, I wasn’t about to let her stop playing with herself, either. I wanted to see what was more powerful - her need for orgasm, or her desire not to get caned.

In short order, I had my answer. Suddenly her body tensed and she began to beg for permission to cum. I leaned in close to her ear and started to whisper,

“Kep playing, brat. You’re going to cum without permission and when you do I’m going to cane my dirty little girl…”

Well, that fair pushed her over the edge and with wracking gasps and yells, she came on her finger. Again and again.

When her orgasms had subsided, I flipped her over and swiftly delivered a couple of good hard spanks to her writhing arse, then flipped her back onto her back and thrust my hand down between her legs again, to be rewarded with a shuddering aftershock orgasm for my attentions.

For a few minutes, I relished her panting shame at having cum so wantonly, knowing she was going to be punished for it, then I stacked the pillows in the middle of the bed and she obediently lay across them, bum high in the air in order to meet the cane.

With each stroke, I ordered her to repeat a different phrase, each designed to gt her to admit the horny feelings she was in the throes of submitting to:

“I love being a bad girl”
“I want to be caned”
“Being spanked makes me wet”

…each followed by a stroke of the cane, which made her arse dance beautifully.

True to form, though, silly brat had trouble coming to terms with her inner masochist, refusing to say the phrases properly most of the time - and earning herself quite a few extra strokes in the process. She had a problem with one phrase in particular - “I love the pain”

Despite all the evidence to the contrary - the playful attempts to escape my clutches, the giggling submission as each hard stroke fell, the thoroughly evil giveaway squelching that accompanied my massaging of her well whipped bottom - she wouldn’t say the words until I’d landed a number of swift, stingy lashes squarely on her by then well striped buttocks.

Then, just to prove the point, I demonstrated just how much she loved the pain by dipping a couple of fingers into her dripping wet pussy and bringing her to a shattering g-spot orgasm or two almost instantly.

Unable to contain my own lust any longer, I then ordered her onto her knees and sunk my cock into her thoroughly betrayed spanko depths, ploughing away at her and bringing her to shattering climax after climax, each one signalled by the phrase “I’m your slave, master”, which never fails to double the intensity of the following orgasm.

I’m so proud of my dirty, horny, bratty little spanko wench, I really am.

Our play session ended with us both crashing to the bed, dripping in sweat and thoroughly satiated, her still protesting her innocense and me suggesting that maybe now she can admit more freely to those deep dark desires she undoubtedly gets whenever my cane falls across her backside.

She’ll try, apparently…

“So, can you still feel my hand on your arse?”
“Mmmm, more than that…”
“Can you still feel my cock in you?”
“Yep…”
“Oh, you’re so going to get it later,”
“Thank you!”

Rewind eleven hours…

brat works part time as a Holistic Therapist, working either from the clients’ home, or her parents’ living room. Due partly to the end of the school holidays and therefore people having more time and money to spare, she’s been quite busy this past week, which has been good for her bank balance, but terrible for her state of mind.

Not only does she take on other peoples’ worries very easily as a side-effect of her job, but she’s hd to spend some extended time around her father, who is, quite frankly, arsehole enough to make a saint curse.

As a result, she’s been getting more and more stressed out about a number of things and breaking more and more rules on her slave contract.

Yesterday, for example, she managed to wrack up six demerits, each usually equating to a stroke of the cane (we’re just starting out, remember, and I’ve learnt my lesson when it comes to being too hard on her…). I decided to get up close and personal with that naughty bum, so when she bent over the arm of the sofa to recieve her punishment, I decided on a good hard hand spanking. The first couple she managed to stay quiet for, but the next few were accompanied by random ouches and gasps. Music to my ears!

I let up on her before she out and out revolted on me and to my surprise instead of sulking, she bounced to my side and snuggled up on my lap - partly, I suspect, to save sitting on her stinging bottom.

You see, we really haven’t been at this long and I’ve been concentrating on yummy spankings and harsh canings. Well, judging by last night, it really should be the other way around.

“I think I needed that,”
“Reeeally?”
“Mmmm, thank you sir. I’m not so stressed anymore.”

Bliss!

We had a little chat after that and it turns out that, as I’d been suspecting, she’s having trouble admitting to needing a spanking - it apparently comes down to her having problems admiting that she needs a little pain. After a good cuddle and chat, she agreed to be a bit more communicative and not be scared of her darker desires.

Now fast forward to earlier this morning…

Another early start for us all - a school day, obviously, but also brat’s busiest day at work and the most time she has to spend around her father. As a result, the school run was a little fraught.

Halfway through the morning, not long before we left the house, she leaned over to me and whispered quietly in my ear,

“I think I’m going to need a spank later”

Well, OK then.

Half an hour later we were back in the house, kids dropped off, work bag packed. All that needed doing was a little tidying up - or so she thought. When she moved to start clearing the morning detritus away, I stopped her with a word, sat down on the sofa and patted my lap,

“Over you go, brat” (or words to that effect, anyway - I was a bit taken up in the moment)

And over she went, like a good girl.

I’m afraid I laid in just a touch, each whack eliciting a variation on ouch, oof, ahh, that hurts, or most satisfyingly, a well spanked grunting towards the end.

I let up on her after about five minutes, at which point she draped herself around me and slumped in chilled out bliss, squirming - so I thought - because of her bright red arse. A couple of minutes later, though, she looked up at me and with more than a little desperation in her voice, asked permission to adjourn to the bedroom for some - ahem - personal pleasure…

OK, her little OTK session has apparently got her all hot and bothered and her pussy was in need of some attention.

Seems like my tender ministrations on her backside had finally had the desired effect!

After she’d masturbated, proclaiming herself my slave and my toy at the point of orgasm (what could be better, I ask you), I delivered a couple more firm whacks to her writhing bum, massaged a couple of aftershock climaxes out of her, then ordered her onto her knees for some hard and horny fucking.

At which point there was a beep from outside as her lift turned up.

Arse, fuck, bollocks and shite!

We both scrambled downstairs and dressed swiftly. She still had her “Brat 24/7″ badge on that I’d told her to pin on before the school run, and just before leaving the house, she raised her skirt and wiggled it at me, all horny and sassy - so I gave it a couple of whacks to remember me by.

And apparently it’s had the desired result, as the snippet of phone call at the start of this post testifies.

Hopefully we have the next couple of days completely to ourselves, as our youngest finally begins fulltime infants’ school. I may spend the seven free hours each day helping brat to thoroughly explore her inner spanko painslut.

Good idea?